There is a Season

by There is a Season (retail) (epu

When John came in Sarah began to tell him about the Doyles’ house, but his face clouded and she remembered the quarrel about them before and swiftly changed the subject.

  John had so many interests now that politics and causes were taking a back seat to them although he still spent time with his grandfather and discussed with him the burning questions of the Means Test and the cuts in wages and benefits.

  A new type of chocolate bar was in the shops, milk chocolate upon dark, and John sometimes thought that his mind was like that: the milk chocolate representing his membership of the Young Mens’ Club and his cycling and billiards playing, and the dark chocolate the bitter anger he felt at the injustice and misery he saw around him.

  He rarely went to the open air meetings now as he felt helpless to do anything about the wrongs that were aired there.

  The clerks he worked with were a light-hearted group and John was happy in the shipping office. The fruit importer’s office had been in Mathew Street, a lane so narrow it was dark even on the brightest day. The shipping office was in Oldhall Street, wide and with solidly built offices with large windows, and the firm were good employers. There was great excitement in the office when the staff were told that senior clerks and those with over fifteen years’ service were to be given a week’s holiday with pay, and that the scheme might be extended to include those with less service at a later date.

  ‘You see, things are getting better,’ one of the clerks who knew John’s views said to him.

  ‘For some people,’ he agreed.

  A few weeks later he was walking through Dale Street when he met Gerry and Peter who had been in his form at school. They had stayed on to take the Higher School Certificate and John had not seen either of them since, but they seemed pleased to see him and they all went into Rigby’s Pub for a drink.

  ‘My brother Henry asked about you. He’s home for the Long Vac,’ Peter Vaughan said. ‘You remember he met you when he was home from Cambridge some years ago? He wondered if you’d kept up your interest in politics.’

  ‘I have,’ John said, ‘but it all seems a bit hopeless. My grandfather always pinned his hopes on working men in Parliament, but even he gets a bit discouraged. Do you think having Roosevelt as President of America will make any difference?’

  ‘None,’ Peter said decisively.

  ‘But he seems to have a more open mind about the War Debt,’ John argued.

  ‘No, no. A corrupt Capitalist society – “Devil take the hindmost.” “Brother, can you spare a dime?” That’s America,’ Peter said. His voice had risen, and Gerry nudged him.

  The barman seemed to be watching them and Gerry said urgently, ‘Drink up. Let’s talk outside.’ They left the pub and walked towards home.

  ‘No use looking towards America, John,’ Gerry said. ‘Russia is the place. They threw off the shackles of centuries and so can we. It’s the old men who hold us back.’

  John was excited by the talk and eagerly agreed to go to a meeting at Gerry’s house.

  ‘Won’t your father object?’ John asked.

  Gerry said bitterly, ‘No, he doesn’t care what I do. He has other interests.’ And John said no more.

  He dressed carefully in his best clothes to go to the meeting at the doctor’s house, but found that the dozen or so young men there were dressed in a Bohemian fashion that made him feel out of place. Several of them were Cambridge undergraduates, friends of Peter’s brother, but they made John welcome and he was flattered when they seemed to listen attentively to his views.

  Always confident, John spoke freely about conditions in Liverpool and the state of local politics, but he soon realized that they were drawing him out to talk because he was so different from them.

  His Liverpool accent was not strong, partly because since childhood he had unconsciously imitated his father’s pleasant tones although he would hotly have denied this, but he became aware of the fact that his speech was very different to the drawling tones of the Varsity men, and fell silent.

  He had just decided that he would never return when a maid appeared with coffee and sandwiches and the men broke into small groups. A friend of Henry Vaughan’s, who had been introduced to John as Richard Allen, sat down beside him.

  ‘I was interested in your comment that religion was the cause of division in Liverpool,’ he said. ‘Is sectarianism so rife?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ John said. ‘It’s what’s holding back reforms that could give a lot of people a better life. My grandfather says that if only working people would stick together they could change their lives, but they never do it while they’re fighting among themselves about religion.’

  ‘Your grandfather sounds an intelligent man,’ Richard Allen commented.

  John’s face coloured with pleasure and he said eagerly, ‘He is. He can talk about anything, and he always talks sense.’

  ‘What does he do?’ asked Richard.

  ‘He’s a checker in a railway yard. His health isn’t good now but he still does a lot to help people. He’s treasurer of his union, and he writes letters for people and goes with them to see the relieving officer, or asks Councillors he knows to have cases reviewed.’

  ‘Yes, I admire him for that, but it’s only dealing with the effects of the system, isn’t it? We need to get at the root cause.’

  ‘My grandfather has dealt with the roots, and suffered for it,’ John said, quick to resent any criticism of Lawrie, however mild. ‘When he was a young man he tried to form a union in a warehouse where he worked, because the men were so badly treated. He got sacked for it.’

  Henry Vaughan was lounging against the mantelpiece. Now he came over and gave Richard a warning glance. ‘John’s grandfather is one of the unsung heroes of the early days,’ he said. ‘They broke the ground for us.’

  John turned to him gratefully. ‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘And he didn’t just try to organize men and fight for better conditions. He took soup out with the Lee Jones for men sleeping rough. He’s not a churchgoer but he worked with a clergyman running a shelter for destitute children, and mended boots for them. He’s very tolerant as well as being a fighter.’

  ‘That was right for his times, John, but tolerance isn’t a virtue now. We’re the new generation and we won’t tolerate the old system.’

  ‘It makes me mad,’ John said, ‘when I see women and children in Liverpool hungry and ragged because the men can’t find work. And instead of offering sympathy and help, the government behaves as though poverty’s a crime. As though the poor are to blame instead of being victims.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ Gerry said. He came over to join their group. ‘It’s not only the government. You only have to open any newspaper to see some potbellied businessman saying the same thing. Did anyone see that cartoon about a man on relief lounging back with a cigar in his mouth, saying, “Why work?” My God, when you look round the queues four deep at such places, and their tatty clothes and broken boots.’

  ‘Nothing will change under Capitalism,’ Richard Allen declared.

  ‘Communism is the answer. One for all and all for one. Sweep away the whole rotten system.’ Again Henry Vaughan gave Richard a warning glance. There was a general shift round of the groups and John found himself standing by Peter.

  ‘My brother says a lot of Varsity men feel as he does,’ Peter said. ‘They tried to help the hunger marchers, and some of them work in East End settlements in London in the Vac, and try to organize discussion groups there. Some of them belong to the Fabian Society but Henry says they’re talkers not doers.’

  John was sorry when the meeting ended. Henry Vaughan walked with him to the tram stop. ‘I was very pleased to see you at the meeting,’ he said. ‘You and Gerry are what we need. Intelligent young men who know the local conditions.’ The tram was approaching and Henry shook hands with John. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you at the next,’ he said.

  John returned home feeling as though he was walking on air. To have made friends with a group like that, in sympath
y with all he had discussed with his grandfather, was like finding a crock of gold.

  He went straight up to his bedroom, refusing supper, to lie awake going over and over all that had happened that night, particularly Henry Vaughan’s words to him at the tram stop.

  It was obvious to the family that something had happened to him because he was so excited and happy during the following few days, but he said nothing about the meeting at home. He had no opportunity to speak privately to his grandfather and he was determined to say nothing to anyone else in case anything derogatory was said.

  His mother and grandmother thought he had met a girl and waited for him to tell them about her, but they waited in vain.

  Finally he was able to talk to his grandfather alone, but to his surprise Lawrie advised caution. ‘You’ll hear a lot of hot air from those fellers, lad. You say one of them was talking about Communism. I remember when you went there years ago there was someone running down the Jews in Germany. That sounds more like Mosley’s lot to me. Listen and weigh them all up. Find out what they’re up to before you say much there.’

  For almost the first time John found himself thinking that his grandfather was too old to understand. He was too naive to realise that the comments at the meeting had been intended to distance him from his grandfather’s moderate views.

  He realised that Lawrie must have mentioned the meeting to his mother when a few days later she said innocently, ‘I didn’t know you’d met Doctor Hanson’s son again, John. He’s still at school, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he’s taking the Higher School Cert,’ John said gruffly.

  Greg looked up. ‘Was that where you went on Wednesday? To his house?’

  ‘Yes. Why not?’ John said insolently. ‘We had a very interesting meeting.’

  His father looked grim. ‘No doubt you set the world to rights, but see that it remains just talk. Don’t get involved in skirmishes with the police, breaking up meetings just because you don’t agree with the speakers. I’ve heard of the activities of that group.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ John said, jumping to his feet. ‘They were nearly all Varsity men on their Long Vac.’

  He felt very sophisticated and superior as he used these terms, but his father was unimpressed.

  ‘I’m not going to dictate to you about your friends, John,’ he said quietly. ‘I just ask you to use your commonsense and not to get carried away by wild talk. And certainly don’t get involved in any of these madcap schemes for going in gangs to break up meetings. You’re supposed to believe in free speech, remember?’

  ‘I’m going out,’ John said, snatching up his cap. Cathy started forward but Greg shook his head at her.

  ‘Let him go,’ he said as the front door closed with a crash. ‘Perhaps he’ll walk off his temper and think about what I’ve said.’

  ‘But are you sure it’s true?’ Cathy said. ‘A respectable family like Doctor Hanson’s.’

  ‘That’s the trouble, I’m afraid,’ Greg said. ‘Doctor Hanson is having an affair with another woman, and Mrs Hanson has left home. I don’t blame his boy for kicking over the traces but I won’t have John involved.’

  The day after the argument with his father John spoke about Gerry in the office and one of the other clerks told him about Doctor Hanson’s affair. So that is how they’re able to have the meetings, John thought, and felt self-conscious when he met Gerry as he walked home from the office.

  To cover his confusion he asked about Richard Allen.

  ‘He’s a friend of Henry Vaughan’s,’ Gerry said. ‘They were at Cambridge together, although Henry’s left now and joined his father’s firm. You know the Vaughans live on the Wirral now, and the firm is Vaughan and Hoslin’s of Chester?’

  ‘Did Henry want to do that? Is he happy there?’ John asked.

  ‘No, but his father insisted. Wouldn’t let him stay on to do post graduate work. Peter says Henry hates the office. His father’s a terrific snob. He just wanted to be able to say he had a son at Cambridge – didn’t care what Henry wanted to do really.’ His face clouded and John guessed that Gerry was thinking of his own father and hastily changed the subject.

  Later, when they parted, John walked along scowling. Fathers, he thought. They were all the same. Gerry’s father embarrassing him by having an affair, Henry’s father a snob, and his own father… Criticizing everything he did, yet doing nothing himself. Believing in the League of Nations and the Peace Pledge Union, and thinking that men in power were honestly trying to solve the problems of destitution. He was a fool, John decided.

  He continued to go every Wednesday to Gerry’s house but the Cambridge men had returned to the university and Henry Vaughan was not often there, so he found the meetings less exciting than the first one, although Henry continued to single him out when he did attend. John’s interest in politics revived.

  Lawrie rarely went to meetings now but John attended every one he could find time for. Every shade of opinion was aired by the soap box orators at the Pier Head, and John was always ready to put questions and to argue with the speakers. He joined a club whose banner read “Workers of the World, Unite”, and where he often heard the phrase “The Brotherhood of Man”.

  John was now eighteen, tall and well built, with grey eyes, a cleft chin and thick dark hair. There were few girls in the shipping office but there were many working in the same building who were interested in him.

  They contrived to leave the building at the same time as John, but he only greeted them cheerfully and strode away, his head too full of dreams of becoming an orator to leave any room for romance.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Sarah returned to school after the summer holidays she went frequently to Elsie’s shop but found her old friend’s behaviour still very odd. Sometimes she would welcome Sarah and tell her to make a frame and deal with any customers who came in while she slipped out for a message, and at other times she would say brusquely that there was nothing for Sarah to do.

  Nellie, the apprentice, told Sarah while Elsie was out one day that she was always bobbing in and out of the shop.

  ‘She’s turning away orders too,’ Nellie said. ‘And I can’t do nothing right for her.’ It was true that the shop, once filled with flowers for sale, and elaborate wreaths made to order, now looked quite bare.

  ‘My mam says if she goes on turning people away they’ll stop coming altogether,’ Nellie said.

  ‘Perhaps it’s because she’s so upset about losing her mother,’ Sarah suggested, but Nellie was unconvinced.

  ‘I think she was made up when her mam died,’ she said. ‘She seemed more excited than cut up about it.’

  Their conversation ceased abruptly when Elsie returned. She breezed in, her eyes bright and cheeks pink. ‘That’s good, girls,’ she exclaimed, looking at the frames they had made. ‘That’s enough for now.’ She took two pennies from the drawer and gave them one each. ‘Go and get an ice cream and then you can go home.’

  The two girls ran through to Fusco’s for the ice cream, both mystified at the sudden gift.

  ‘I told you. You never know what’s going to happen next with her,’ Nellie said. ‘And you never know when you’re doing right. She’s so up and down.’

  Sarah told her mother what Nellie had said and about Elsie’s strange behaviour. Cathy looked thoughtful but to Sarah she said only that Elsie might be upset at the loss of her mother. Later to Greg, when she told him the tale, she said, ‘I wonder if she’s taken to drink? Going out low in spirits and coming back cheerful, the way Sarah described her today. It seems likely, doesn’t it?’

  He agreed and Cathy remarked, ‘I hope it’s just because she’s grieving for her mother, and she gets over it before Sarah starts in the shop. I hope the shop doesn’t go down too much either.’

  ‘There’s a few months yet before Sarah’ll be going there,’ Greg said. ‘Elsie seems a sensible woman. I’m sure she’ll pull herself together.’

  A few days later Cathy went to her
mother’s house shortly after the children had left for school. They had started work on the brasses when there was a call from the lobby. It was Peggy Burns, calling, ‘Sally, are you there?’ in an excited voice. Before Cathy could open the door into the lobby, Peggy burst in.

  ‘Sally, Cathy,’ she said breathlessly, ‘I’ve just been to the shop and they’re all talking about it. Elsie Hammond’s run off with Bella Menzie’s husband.’

  ‘Elsie?’ Cathy exclaimed incredulously.

  Sally said, ‘Bella Menzies? Used to live in Aber Street? But they’ve got young children.’

  ‘Five,’ Peggy declared. ‘The youngest two and a half and the eldest ten. Poor Bella’s out of her mind.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Cathy exclaimed. ‘Not Elsie. The fellow might have gone but it doesn’t mean Elsie’s gone with him. She might be ill in bed.’ Or drunk, she thought to herself, but Peggy swept on.

  ‘No, someone saw them at the station – Lime Street – last night, but not together. Never thought nothing of it at the time.’

  ‘But is Bella sure?’ Sally said. ‘Elsie… a decent girl like that.’ Her eyes were wide with shock and she sat down heavily. ‘I thought I knew her. There with her when her mam was ill, and when she died—’

  ‘That’s all they’ve been waiting for, Bella says. For the old lady to die. She says it’s gone on for over a year.’

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ Cathy exclaimed.

  Sally said quietly, ‘But why hasn’t Bella said something? How has it been kept quiet?’

  ‘She says she didn’t know about Elsie at first but about a year ago Luke started going funny with her, never speaking and coming home all hours from work. She thought he was gambling because he was always short of money, and then he started saying it wasn’t right about the lads and girls sleeping together – they’ve only got two bedrooms – so he slept with the lads and she slept with the girls. She says she thought the kids were young for him to start fussing about them sleeping together, but she was glad because she didn’t want no more. But now she can see his game.’